The Big Day
by Heddwig
Summary: Hermione is getting married to Draco, how does she handle the before-stress before saying her vows?


A/N: This is a work of fiction purely inspired by J.K. Rowling and her affiliates, I do not wish to copyright infringe on what they have created. No profit is being made from this work.

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Despite all disagreements and temporary feuds preceding the recital and wedding itself, harsh words were narrowed into taut smiles and fraudulent statements that held a second, faint, meaning. The day of the wedding when the bride and groom were not to see each other until vows and heavily weighted rings were to be exchanged, the bride had been seated on a faux leather ottoman with a delicacy too savory for her taste. At the sound of an unexpected knock on the thick, panel, wooden doors the bride bounds to her feet—briefly stumbling, still adjusting to stilettos she isn't regularly accustomed too.

Having forgot that she held onto some pieces of hazelnut chocolate for far too long—the outer coating waxing her sweaty fingertips—she, without thought, begins to brush her hands on the billowed tulle of her dress while hurriedly walking toward one of the double, oak, doors. It's when one trembling hand clasps onto the golden handle—her brown eyes quickly averting downward—that she notices the faint stains of chocolate on her white gown.

Fearing the worst, she releases the handle and inhales…feeling her torso expand slowly before releasing just the same. Pursing her glossy lips together now, she looks straight ahead only her eyelids shield vibrant colours and unwanted décor. The knock is repeated only just a bit louder than before. In a split second the bride decides to step away from the door—distance her voice and gather her wand that had been resting beside her on the ottoman.

"Just a moment!" She calls, hoping whoever it is hears her and mistakes her shrill voice to only be nerves gnawing at her stomach. Quickly stuffing another delicacy into her mouth and licking the melted chocolate off of her crimson fingertips, she retrieves her wand and glances down—realizing not even her own wand could lift the stain. But this doesn't upset her as much as it would have any other wizard or witch for she was muggleborn…using magic was like acquiring the skill of learning another language.

Hunched over briefly she stands upright—eyes quickly scanning the luxurious room before spotting a small linen cloth._how convenient_, she thinks rather pointedly and scurries to the Victorian dresser to retrieve the thin item, wiping at the scattered streaks until they were no longer removable or able to make transparent to the naked eye; her arm slumps by her side—although the streaks are not as noticeable as they were before, she still feels a great pang of disappointment.

Dropping the cloth back in its place carelessly, she bends forward while simultaneously grasping at edges of the dress until she is able to see her ankle—she fastens her wand in place. Today would be a bad day to get married but regardless, against rational thought, the pair didn't seem to care and instead chose to be prepared.

Standing upright once more the bride looks at herself in the mirror briefly, this wouldn't be as embarrassing as it had been her fourth year at Hogwarts but what did it matter? Narrowing her eyes, she remembers the lingering question that hovers about—just waiting to be asked by her mouth but she doesn't get a chance to ask. Before she is even given that opportunity, a calm—soothing—voice seems to reach through the doors. Reaching for her.

"Are you about ready, dear?" Her mum, the woman asking her is her mum. The bride inhales again and flutters her eyelids closed; this is it, this is the moment she has spent the last seven months preparing for despite the nervous feeling in her stomach. Not wanting to keep her mother waiting any longer, she begins to walk toward the doors and pulls one open…a gasp can be heard from many mouths…her friends, her very own mother although they had seen her previously, helping her put the gown on and ready herself, they still existed in the realm of shock.

"Coming, mum," a small smile can be seen on the bride's face as her eyes search the accompanied guests—her bridesmaids, Ginny and Luna. Her tone, normally confident and level, can barely be heard—her throat was beginning to close up, tears were welling into her eyes and she kept promising she wouldn't cry in front of them.

"Just beautiful! Absolutely beautiful, my dear!" The mother says with a smile widening into a perfect grin. "Although that Narcissa woman doesn't seem to think so!" Her mother gossips and waves a hand as if to dismiss the disregards of the bride's future mother-in-law. "Who does she think she is? Let me tell _you_, she _has_ to lower that nose of hers if she wants to get along." The bride's mother continues to snicker, taking hold of her daughter's hand as they walk away from the bridal room.

"Don't look!" Ginny interjects now and hastily moves to stand in front of the bride, her topaz-coloured dress contrasting wonderfully against her ginger hair.

"Was it him Ginny?" The bride asks and instantly her eyes begin to light up with hope but instantly that very hope is shunned into a small flint of dust upon seeing the growing disappointment. "It was Ron, wasn't it?" She asks now.

"He still thinks what you're doing is wrong, Hermione." Ginny says meekly and takes hold of Hermione's opposite—free—hand as they walk down a corridor made completely out of marble. "We all tried to reason with him but…"

"But what?" Hermione inquires, skin between her eyebrows crinkling as she tries not to acknowledge the squeezing of both of her hands. "What is he going to do?"

For once Hermione doesn't know what to expect although when that moment arrived, she felt as if she knew all a glance toward her mother's direction, Hermione feels her chest constrict as they near another set of doors that lead into a room that reminded her immensely of the Great Hall back at Hogwarts.

When Luna and Ginny proceed to step in one by one, the music queuing itself to begin playing, Hermione looks at her mother again and slumps completely. A few months before the established date of the wedding, her father had passed—the cause of death declared to be accidental, natural causes. He had died without walking his daughter down the aisle, without talking some sense into his could-have-been son-in-law.

Fortunately Hermione didn't have to live with eternal guilt, she had reversed the memory charm just in time…at least she had that to hold onto along with memories.

Before she could give any type of confirmation to say she was ready to step into the altar, the door opens—unveiling her completely, the same tears from earlier threatening to resurface when she lifted her eyes and spotted her husband-to-be, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Again she inhales and holds her breath, standing in place with her mother's hand resting firmly on the dip of her lower back.

Not many were invited, only close friends and a select few of relatives and yet…their stare felt like spears being thrown into her chest all at once. They all swiveled around in the cushioned bench seats to face her, arms handing the backs of the benches as they stared with impressionable eyes. She spots Harry and Ron almost immediately and the breath she had been holding is instantly flushed from her as a smile begins to form. A slow but guarded smile.

Even though they are a few meters away, Hermione can see the noticeable disappointment in those blue eyes of his; of Ron's. He had every right to be upset; she…Hermione Jean Granger…is marrying a man _they_ hated before, during, and after the Second Wizarding War. She, Hermione Granger, is marrying a former Death Eater, a ferret…a seething bastard. A _coward,_ for Merlin's sake!

Ron truly thought she could have done better.

"Come along dear, we don't want you passing out…" Hermione's mother forewarns—using her eyes to gesture toward Hermione's legs that must be locked stiff beneath her gown.

With a solid nod, Hermione begins to waltz forward, hands free of a bouquet and as her eyes look around the room she spots Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy—also former Death Eaters. They were trying hard not to glower or even alarm anyone of their judging eyes that so blatantly scorned of awful thoughts behind them. Of course they despise her, she's a Mudblood…she fought alongside Harry Potter…she slapped their dearest boy.

Her eyes linger on them longer than needed but she can't bring herself to look away, she watches as Lucius leans into Narcissa in such a gentle way…as if she were a delicate petal that only meant he could graze her. His lips move and Hermione watches—wanting to know what sluggish things they are saying about her, they probably spotted the smeared chocolate on her tulle and this makes her feel self-conscious…she didn't like this…this vulnerability.

When Hermione finally reaches the licensed official, Hermione looks down in time to notice Draco intertwine his fingers with her own, she looks up and sees his gray eyes looking at her.


End file.
